Seven
by Pedellea
Summary: It's the seventh anniversary of Deborah's death, and Doc reflects.


**TITLE**: Seven   
**AUTHOR**: Pedellea   
**E-MAIL**: pedellea@hotmail.com   
**DATE**: December 11, 2003   
**RATING**: PG   
**SUMMARY**: It's the seventh anniversary of Deborah's death, and Doc's reflects.   
**SPOILERS**: Some allusions to stuff that happened to Doc throughout the show.   
**DISCLAIMER**: Third Watch belongs to John Wells Production and Warner Bros. There you are. Short and sweet.   
**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: I've always wanted to write something about Doc and the death of his wife, and this is what came out. It's a bit dark, kind of hopeless, but when you're not going anywhere after your wife's death, where do you expect to be? Anyway, hope you'll all enjoy this piece. Let me know what you think afterwards! 

I must also confess that I haven't been keeping up to date with watching Third Watch, so I'm only drawing what I do remember of the show. Hope it's in keeping with what's been happening! 

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**SEVEN**   
By Pedellea 

It's been seven years. 

He remembered hearing from somewhere that seven is the perfect number. She was born on July 7th - no doubt perfect in every way. 

And this was the seventh anniversary of her death. He fingered his wedding ring and gulped his drink in commemoration. To Deborah. 

Even when he first spotted her, he knew she was the one. She was the one who could fill up the gaps he never could, the one that would be with him forever. He loved her with all he had, despite all the holes that penetrated his being. 

She had completed him. She saw through his flaws and made him whole. The house, the bills, the dishes, even the plants - she took care of everything. Without her, he was nothing. 

It had been his idea for the trip. "Time to kick back and enjoy life together," he said. He had always been the bringer of bad things in their relationship. Even the good things turned sour - her death was his "good" doing. 

Everything changed after that. 

Things fell apart for seven years without ever stopping. His best friend ceased contact. Relationships blew up to pieces. People were injured by his touch. People were *killed* by his touch. And to top it all of, he was promoted from doing what he loved best. Or maybe it was what he did worse, at least since she died. 

Doc took another swig, swiping his mouth. Everything was wrong. 

Seven years. How did seven agonizing years slip pass without him even knowing that time was moving? 

Work had filled his time. Going from patient to patient, fixing up their wounds while leaving his own inadequacies to fester and eat him up alive. Now he sat at meeting to meeting, annoyed at the stupid little details of a system that could not be fixed. Everything was going from bad to worse. 

There was a split moment in these seven, long years he thought it would all end. As he lay, cold and shivering in that forsaken basement, blood slowly leaking from his body, he dreamed he was finally reuniting with her. But the bubble was popped, and he was saved. 

More like condemned to another who knows how long on this wretched earth. 

He stared at the picture of her, and drank again. 

Why weren't they still happily married, with her tending to their children, watering her African violets, making her meat casserole, filling up his holes? 

Instead, here he was, thoughts swirling in his head in insane circles, thinking about the past, thinking about the present, dreaming about what is not to be. 

He laughed. Maybe this was what insanity is. But why was insanity so sobering? 

He drained the bottle in his hand, hoping the amber liquid would block his tumbling and excruciating thoughts. He threw the bottle up against the wall with a throaty scream in frustrated anger. It crashed, breaking into a million pieces. Another mess he needed to clean up, sometime or another. 

She would have picked it up. Picked it up, cleaned up the wall, and made him whole again. 

He wanted her. He *needed* her. Why did she leave? 

Doc sighed. 

He was always the selfish one. 

If he really wanted to, he could have taken his life ages ago. But there was always a hope that this was all some nightmare, and that in the morning, she would be by his side, holding him, letting him know everything was alright. It's been seven years of waiting, and that's what he is still doing - waiting. He was becoming tired of this one-way game. 

But the bigger reason that he hasn't taken his life was because he never had the guts to do it. She had always been his strength, even in death. On the flip side, life has been a meaningless blur for seven years. Without her strength, he couldn't go on. 

So here he was, on the edge of insanity, unable to live, but unable to die. 

All on the seventh anniversary of his wife's death. 

No telling where it goes from here. 

**THE END**

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What an evil ending! Hope you don't mind. It's been a story waiting to be written for a while now. Feedback is much appreciated! 


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